


Want to Be Well

by whatagrump



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Depression, Drunkenness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4541073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatagrump/pseuds/whatagrump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in the dead of winter, things are finally going well for Karen. Foggy and Matt are getting along again, she's sleeping through the night, and Matt's stopped showing up to work with ever-worsening cuts and bruises. But when Foggy leaves on a family vacation, things suddenly take a turn for the worse. </p><p>No ships, just sad Matt. Foggy will return in later chapters, never fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing to Worry About

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-Season 1, heavily influenced by 616 canon. Apologies for excessive italics, but they're drunk through most of the first chapter and drunk people are pretty emphatic. I make no excuses for the excessive ellipses. That's just me.

Foggy had given Karen a few specific instructions on the “care and keeping of Matt,” as he called it, before taking off on his family vacation. They’d all spent that Friday night at Josie’s (they really couldn’t afford drinks anywhere else), toasting Foggy’s trip to Vermont with progressively drunker and more enthusiastic speeches.

Matt had lifted a slightly dusty martini glass by the stem, one hand to his chest, and said, “never before has such a worsely timed vacation been planned. Foggy, we will miss you _dearly_. I, for one, will be praying everyday for your shwift…sorry, I mean shwift. Shwift. Swift…return!”

At this point Karen had to grab his elbow to keep him from tipping the martini onto Foggy, who was facedown on the table, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“ _Frebuary,_ Karen! In Vermont!” Matt said earnestly as he sat back down.

“I know, I know. But it's late, and you _really_ need to go home,” she giggled.

She and Foggy, marginally more sober, managed to pack Matt into a cab and send him back to his apartment. It was only a few blocks, but the guy could barely keep a grip on his cane and the sidewalk was icy.

After the cab had rounded a corner out of sight, Karen clapped her hands to her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oh. My Lord.”

“I know,” said Foggy. “The man cannot handle his alcohol.” In the aggressive glow of Josie’s neon she caught Foggy’s expression drop a little, and braced herself. “You sure you have this under control?”

“It’s one week, Foggy. And Matt's a grown man! And I'm a grown lady. Woman. Person.”

Foggy rocked back and forth a little, clearly on the verge of telling her something. Karen crossed her fingers in her mittens—if he would just admit to whatever secret the two had been keeping from her, maybe he could actually _enjoy_ his vacation. This was getting ridiculous. Finally, Foggy gave a pronounced shrug and chuckled.

“Yeah, course. Course. You’ve got my number, just…uh. Give me a call if you need anything.”

“That all, _boss_?” Clearly Foggy was less drunk than Karen had thought, and she was ready to wrap up this frankly _unequal_ conversation.

“Um. No. If Matt’s late to work, call him. Then call me if he doesn’t, you know. Pick up.”

There were a few more things after that, and they swam around in Karen’s head as she let Foggy escort her home. Matt kept his house key behind the loose brick over the doorframe. She needed to look over any documents he wrote before he submitted them, cause Matt’s spelling was horrible and he usually didn’t catch mixed-up homophones. Something about a case file. Something something about something. Finally, she put a hand on Foggy’s shoulder (well, she _tried_ to put a hand on his shoulder. Then she tried a second time and managed it) and gave him her most practiced serious stare.

“Fog, you need to let it _go_. Like, uh, like the song. You know,” she hummed a few bars to give him the idea.

“Did you somehow get _drunker_ while we were walking?” he asked, laughing.

“Dude, I’m serious!”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m being ridiculous. See you Monday after next?”

“What?” she said, and spun around to see her front door. “Holy crap! We walked so _fast_!”

“Goodnight, Karen. Drink a glass of water before bed.”

“Yessir, bossman.”

 

* * *

 

So she didn’t wake up until early afternoon the next day, which was perfectly acceptable since she was a gainfully employed young woman enjoying her weekend, thank you very much. Besides, New York City was suffering one of its coldest winters in years, and her comforter was _warm_. She ordered Thai and marathoned _The Office_ in her pajamas. On Sunday, Karen dragged herself from her apartment and down to the gym, where she continued to marathon _The Office,_ but this time she was watching it from a treadmill so it was a different thing entirely. Monday morning she woke up to a fresh inch of snow, which would have been nice anywhere but Manhattan. As it was, by the time Karen reached the office her boots and socks were soaked through with slush. She draped them over the radiator to dry off until Matt arrived.

A little before 9 AM, she reluctantly pulled her still damp socks back on and positioned herself behind the front desk, coffee brewed and computers powering up. Then she waited. And waited. At 9:15, she tried Matt’s cell but didn’t get a response. At 9:30 she tried again. Nothing. At 9:48, after a third failed attempt to reach Matt, she gave in and called Foggy. He picked up on the second ring, which was probably a testament to just how well the “vacation” was going.

“Yeah, Karen?”

“Hey, Foggy. Calm down.”

“I’m calm, _super_ calm. Dude, I’m on _vacation,_ ” he said, his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Course you are,” she smiled. “Listen, _please_ don't freak out or anything, but Matt’s not in the office yet and he's not picking up.”

The sound of a dropped cell phone racketed down the line, and Karen had to pull her own phone away from her ear until she heard Foggy’s panicked voice again.

“Shit, shit, okay, _shit._ Yeah, um, you might wanna head over to his apartment.”

Karen sighed and rocked back in her chair. “I said don’t freak out.”

“How many times did you call him?”

“Not...Not that many times,” she lied.

His groan of frustration came out as a rush of static. “Humor me. Can you head over there?”

“Foggy, it’s 8 **°** outside and the streets are full of slush. I’ll try him again and suggest he takes a cab.”

“KAREN!”

This time she nearly dropped her own phone—Foggy’s tone carried an unpleasant mixture of anger and fear. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried again.

“I’m…I’m sorry, Fog. You’re right, it’s...I’m sorry.”

There was a long silence on the other end.

“No. _I’m_ sorry. Really. That was totally out of line,” Foggy said.

“I’ll head over there now.”

“I really appreciate it, Karen. I’ll buy you a special souvenir.”

She giggled. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Oh, come on! What do you want? Maple syrup? Maple candy? Maple cream? The selection here, it’s phenomenal.”

Karen laughed, and was relieved to hear Foggy join in. She could tell he was still worried, but she appreciated the effort.

“I’m going,” she said.

“Okay, yeah.”

“Going.”

“Go.”

“Gone.”

“Bye, Karen,” he said, and hung up.

 

 


	2. Vermont

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy gets another phone call, and it's almost reassuring. Almost.

“Shit. Shit shit shit _shit_.” Foggy was stuck on a loop. He’d done alright for a few minutes after Karen’s phone call; at least long enough to wave off his parents’ questions and escape to his sister’s car. Two hours later and the steering wheel was marking a neat red line across his forehead. _“Shit_.”

 _Why’d you let me find out, Matt?_ he thought. _You must’ve known I’d find out. You must have known what it’d do to me. Like I didn’t worry enough before. You selfish fucking_ asshole!

It wasn’t just that Matt’s new “hobby” was dangerous. Yeah, it _was_ dangerous. Suicidal, maybe. Probably. But that wasn’t entirely it. Foggy didn't just have the, "Matt might be hurt!" thought running through his head. He also had the, "Matt's a dick for making me worry about this" thought. And the "I'm a dick for thinking he's a dick" thought and the "if I don't resent him a little bit it must mean I have no self-respect" thought and on and on and on. Usually culminating in the "stress is bad for you and I am  _very_ stressed and I will die young" thought.

When his phone finally rang again, Foggy jumped on it so quickly it hit the floor of the car and he had to dig it out from behind the brake pedal. 

“Karen. Hey. How’s it, uh, how’s it…how’s Matt?”

There was just the slightest moment of hesitation on the other end and his heart plummeted rapidly. 

“He’s fine, Foggy.”

 _Oh my God. Fuck me. This is so stupid. Shit_. But he couldn’t say any of that to Karen, so instead he took a moment to compose himself before saying, “hey, that’s great. Thanks Karen. I owe you.”

“Of course you don’t. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time about it.”

“Um, before we get caught in another apology loop...what was up?”

“Oh, you know. The electricity in his apartment building shut off, he had to get everything out of the fridge and sort things out with the landlord,” she said.

Matt definitely wasn’t dying. There was no way Karen could keep that out of her voice. And she didn’t know that he was Daredevil, or Matt would have told her that Foggy knew as well and they wouldn’t have to play this stupid game. But there was still something off.

“He couldn’t call you?” he asked.

“Phone died. Left his charger at the office.” 

Holy shit, she was good. Didn't miss a beat. And if Foggy didn’t know Matt half as well as he did, he probably would’ve believed her. No, Matt didn’t leave his charger at the office. He was the most aggressively organized person Foggy knew. On their second day as roommates he'd politely told Foggy off for "uneven paper stacking."

“Wow, unlucky.”

“Yeah. Matt’s in the bathroom, he wanted me to tell you that we’re taking the day off.”

“The _day_?”

“Nothing’s happening at the office, the weather is terrible, Matt’s got a bit of a cold, etc. Again, this is _not_ me saying this. Matt’s idea. Is that…okay?”

Foggy ran a hand down his face. “Hey, who am I to judge?”

“Oh, right! How’s the vacation so far? I didn’t get a chance to ask before,” Karen said, her voice perking up a little.

 “Wunderbar. I think we’re the only people in a fifty-mile radius and my sister has tried and _failed_ to bake gingerbread cookies three times in a row now.”

Hearing Karen’s laugh through the telephone line was like swallowing a hot mug of tea a little too quickly. Foggy couldn’t help but smile. It lasted about two seconds.

“Hey, asshole!” Foggy’s sister rapped hard on the car window. “Cookies are done.”

“Karen, I gotta go. My sister’s here to tell me of her latest defeat.”

“Bye, Fog. I’ll text you later.”

Foggy rolled the window down halfway and stuck his head out. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“Okay, so first of all, I heard you shit talking my baking. And _second_ of all—“ she held up a lopsided gingerbread man, only slightly burnt, and laughed triumphantly. “Cookies three, Bonnie _one_.”

“Pretty sure that still makes you a loser.”

“Scoot over.” 

Foggy pushed the car door open with his fingertips and slid into the passenger seat. “I was just about to come back in.”

Bonnie sighed and bit off the head of her gingerbread man. “Work stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“Matt stuff?”

He shot her an irritated look. “No.”

“Listen, bro. I get it. You know how many of my college friends I’ve had to take care of over the phone? Every other day one of them posts some terrifying status on Facebook and I have to drop everything I’m doing to check in."

“It’s not the same.” Even as he said it, he knew that that wasn’t quite true.

She paused to chew her lip and think over her next words. "It's not fair. It takes so much of my energy to be there for them. Sometimes I hate them for it. And sometimes I  _know_  they wouldn't do the same for me. That hurts the most."

"I'm sorry, Bonnie—"

She held up a hand. "Okay, thank you, I appreciate it. But we're talking about you right now."

"Are we?" Foggy said, smiling.

"Yes, dickhead. I just wanted to say...I know Matt. And he's not like that. He worries about you, too, and he'll be there when you need him."

"That's not. That's part of it, but." He groaned. "It's complicated."

Bonnie nodded solemnly. “Okay. But do you feel better?”

“...Yeah. I do.” He was surprised to find he was telling the truth.

“C’mere.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him in for an awkward half-hug. “Karen…that’s her name, right? Karen?” 

“Yup.”

“Karen’s got things under control. Come back inside?”

Foggy smiled. “Thanks, Bonnie.”

She scoffed. “Please. You’re a hell of a lot easier to handle than Eliza or Sam or Alexis or—“

“Yup! Got it!”

“Or Lily or Noah or Sasha or—“

“I get it! You have more friends than me!”

“You know it, bro.”

 

* * *

 

Karen slipped her phone back into her purse and sat back down at the foot of Matt’s bed. 

“Foggy?” he asked.

“Yeah.” 

“You lied to him.”

She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and squeezed Matt’s foot. “I know,” she said quietly. "It'll be okay." 


	3. Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen goes to Matt's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! Another chapter. Sort of a pairing to the last one. Because wouldn't it be nice to finally see what's happening with Matt?

Karen had left the office two hours earlier in decent spirits— Foggy’s strange overprotectiveness was more his problem than hers, but she was happy to do her part assuaging it. It was probably a good thing he was taking this vacation. Cutting the umbilical cord, in a way. On the other hand, the weather outside was truly horrendous. It was snowing again, but not in soft, fat clumps. Instead of lazily drifting down, they seemed intent on drawing blood, the tiny little flecks blowing horizontally into Karen’s eyes. Her scarf soaked through in a matter of minutes. Her socks were a lost cause. 

As she neared Matt’s apartment, she started to feel a nagging doubt prickling in the back of her head. After all, Foggy knew Matt better than she did. Maybe she shouldn’t have stopped to get them coffee. Maybe she should be rushing. Shit. 

She nearly tripped on the stairs up, her body unsure if she was running or walking. By the time she’d reached his door, her heart was beating unnaturally fast and she had to take a moment to catch her breath before knocking. And then knocking again. And again. 

“Matt. _Hey_ ,” she called through the door.

The silence felt like cotton in her ears, sneaking into her brain and clouding her thoughts with fuzzy white panic. 

“ _Matt!_ ” she tried again, banging on the door.

She was just about to bust the door down when he responded: “The key’s above the door.”

Karen scraped it down and scrambled to unlock the door. Stepping into the apartment, she searched the living room and kitchen for Matt. Nothing. She put the two coffees down beside a bowl of over-ripe bananas on the table.

“Not a very safe place for a key,” she said.

“I know. You can. Keep that one.” Ah. He was in the bedroom, the recently repaired door slid shut.

“I, uh, I tried your cell phone,” she said.

“Yeah. ‘M sorry I didn’t pick up,” he said through the door.

She looked over to the kitchen counter. His phone sat there, plugged in with her missed messages flashing on the screen. 

“I can barely hear you, Matt. Can you come out here?”

“You can come in here. It’s fine,” he said. There was something off about his voice. Once again, Karen’s mind flashed to the many possibilities that would keep someone as hardworking as Matt from the office.

“You didn’t call in sick,” she tried, sliding the door open.

“Hmm.”

He was there, curled up in bed. His blanket pulled to his chin and his back to Karen. He didn’t make an effort to turn towards her, so she sat down on the foot of the bed and waited for him to say something. She waited a while. Finally, she gave in.

“Matt?”

“Yes, Karen?”

“What’s wrong?”

She heard him swallow dryly.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice rough.

“Will you look at me, then?”

He shook his head slightly, and the movement drew her eye to his hair, which looked uncharacteristically greasy. “I said it was nothing.”

Karen stood up abruptly and circled to the other side of the bed. She got down on her knees and looked Matt dead in the eyes (whatever good that would do). His standard, carefully maintained stubble had grown out a little and his hair _was_ kind of dirty, but that wasn’t what scared Karen. What scared her was the expression he was wearing. Matt’s face was calm and impassive, with clear tear tracks running over his nose, down his left cheek, and into a small, damp spot on the mattress. 

“Oh, Matt,” Karen murmured. 

He didn’t say anything.

She tried a different tact. “Foggy was worried.”

He raised his eyebrows and blinked rapidly. “Um. Oh.”

“He asked me to come by your apartment when I told him you weren’t picking up.”

Matt made an attempt at a smile, failed, and nodded against the sheets instead. “Guess I should’ve picked up.”

Karen felt the desperation overwhelm her, threatening to come out in her voice. “Will you call him?”

“I don’t…think that’s a good idea.”

“ _Please_.”

His expression crumpled for a split second, then smoothed out. “Give me a minute.”

They sat in silence for fifteen minutes or so. Karen migrated back down to the end of the bed and started rubbing Matt’s foot absentmindedly. Every now and then she heard him let out a slightly strangled breath, but whenever she looked up his face was carefully composed. His tear tracks started to dry. Eventually she checked her watch again. Okay. So it hadn’t been fifteen minutes. More like forty. 

“Hey, Matt. It’s time. Foggy’s gotta be tearing his hair out right now.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it. “I’m not—” he tried, his voice breaking.

“Okay. Okay.”

An hour later, she stepped out of the room and called Foggy herself.

 

* * *

 

Karen slipped her phone back into her purse and sat back down at the foot of Matt’s bed. 

“Foggy?” he asked.

“Yeah.” 

“You lied to him.”

She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and squeezed Matt’s foot. “I know,” she said quietly. “It'll be okay."


	4. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Matt spent his weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, mainly because there's no dialogue and I don't want to bore anyone. 
> 
> I really appreciate the comments I've been getting! While I have a general sense of where this is going, I'm very open to suggestions, so if there's anything you're dying to see happen, let me know.

Matt couldn’t remember getting back to his apartment that past Friday, but he’d obviously managed it. He woke up early on Saturday to a wave of nausea and barely made it to the bathroom in time. After he’d pulled himself away from the toilet, he changed out of the rumpled dress-shirt and pants he’d slept in and into his grey sweats. It was only 7 AM; he could get some more sleep, wake up at noon, then shower and head to the gym (just weight training, he knew boxing during regular hours would draw too much attention). Grab a bite, maybe get in some case work. With the early February sunset, he would be out on the streets by 6:30. A productive Saturday. It was the weekend routine he’d been following for the past few months, ever since the Fisk case (he preferred to call it a “case.” It helped him keep things in perspective) had ended. So he went back to bed, slightly disoriented and still a bit nauseous. 

His weekend wasn’t getting off to a promising start, but he’d had much worse. For once there were no fractures or bruises or torn stitches to nurse, and according to the weather reports, he still had two nights left before the snow set in. Two nights left to spend risking his neck in Manhattan alleyways. The snow muffled vibrations and smells and eliminated temperature variation, essentially nullifying his enhanced senses. After Foggy had found out about this, Matt had made a promise he planned on keeping: no crime-fighting in the snow. 

Five hours later, Matt’s alarm went off. And he woke up. And he didn’t move. 

 _If I sleep a bit longer, I can stay out later tonight. There’s no reason to push myself. No case work this weekend, no meetings on Monday…Foggy was just telling me I needed to get more sleep_. 

He did sleep—he managed to sleep for another three hours. Then he got out of bed, started for the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks. There wasn’t much to eat, only a few bananas and some probiotic yogurt. He could go out to the store. But, of course, Foggy was on vacation, and Matt preferred to go food shopping with his friend around to help with the labels. Could always call Karen. He knew he wouldn’t. So no food today. That was fine, he’d take the yogurt and maybe get something from the vending machine at the gym. Yogurt first. The phrase echoed through his head and gradually lost its meaning: _yogurt first, yogurt first, yogurt-first, yogertfirst, yogerdfurst._ Again, he stopped. One hand around the handle of the fridge, the other tapping a frantic beat on his thigh. 

 _Something’s wrong,_ he thought. _This doesn’t feel right._

He couldn’t say what, exactly, didn’t feel right. But he didn’t want to eat. He wasn’t hungry. He was tired.

 _I can’t go back to bed. It’s three in the afternoon._ He felt for his watch, then very quickly put his hand back down. _Four. Four in the afternoon._

Suddenly, he was acutely aware of the ache in his feet, the stiffness of his clasped hand. How long had he been standing there, barefoot in the kitchen?

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

Matt knew what this was. He knew, he recognized it. He knew he couldn’t go back to bed. He knew he had to go, get up and go, take a shower, eat something, work out, beat someone up—that last part had not been on the list of suggestions his college counselor had given him, but what Dr. Ibson didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. 

He had to go. He had to. The small, rapidly weakening voice in the back of his head, shrill and almost hysterical, insisted on it. The rhythm Matt tapped out on his leg grew more chaotic.

He went back to bed.


	5. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt tries to get rid of Karen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter! I'm sorry, I think it's mainly because I keep wanting to switch the PoV.
> 
> Comments are fantastic, especially since I'm not 100% sure where this is going atm and encouragement/suggestions are very helpful.

“I’m running to the store for some food. Want anything?”

Matt rolled onto his back and rubbed at his head. Okay, so he needed to wash his hair. He needed to do a few things.

“Thank you, Karen, but it would probably be better if you just…” he trailed off.

“Leave?” she challenged.

He shrugged helplessly. “I can meet you at the office.”

Karen sighed and crossed back over to the bed, where Matt was slowly but surely edging into a sitting position. 

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea,” she said.

“Could you…could you just trust me?" Matt said, his voice cracking slightly. Oh God, that did not sound trustworthy. He tried again: "I know what I’m doing.”

She swallowed nervously. The sound was loud, loud and familiar; Karen was almost always vibrating with nervous energy. Did she know that? And Matt was only making things worse for her. The longer she stayed in the apartment, the faster her heart beat and the more flushed her skin became.

 _I'm doing this to her,_ he thought.  _Please, Karen. Please, just go away._

When she’d arrived earlier that morning, it had been as though a wave of humiliation had washed in with the open door. If he’d been paralyzed before, it had only gotten worse since then. Just the thought of her standing over him, of her sitting beside him, of her  _speaking_ to him while he lay in bed like a pouting child...if Matt had any food in his stomach he'd probably have thrown it up. 

 _First thing’s first, sit up. Sit up. Sit up._ And then he was sitting up. _The mind controls the body,_ he thought, only somewhat sarcastically.

He tapped along the bedside table until he hit his sunglasses, and slipped them on. Sitting up, glasses on. He was practically out the door already. Matt suspected that any attempt at a smile would be a bit of a disaster, but other than that, he was radiating "mental health." Probably. At least enough to get Karen out of the apartment. 

“Who do you think you’re convincing?” she said.

Okay, maybe not. He would have laughed, but it felt a bit too much like a punch in the stomach. 

Another deep sigh. “Matt, I…I get it. I’m not going to pry. If you want, we’ll talk about it, but we don’t have to. You shouldn’t come into the office, but I’ll leave if that’s what you really want. At least for today. So,” she said, “what would you like?”

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but his voice stuck in his throat and he shook his head.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was so quiet that Karen had to lean in to hear it. He felt her hair brush his arm as she did.

“Would you like me to go?”

“…No,” he whispered.

“Okay. I’ve got my laptop, I’ll work from here today.” The floorboards creaked as she walked to the window. “Snow’s coming down. They say we might get over a foot.”

 _Shit_ , Matt thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled in on himself for a millisecond, knowing Karen’s back was turned. _Sunday night, you missed Saturday_ and _Sunday night. Now you won’t be able to get back out there for God knows how long. Stupid, stupid, stupid._  

When she turned around, he was uncurled and sitting up again. Even had one leg over the edge of the bed, like he was about to stand up.

“There’s a bodega about a block from here, if you still wanted something from the store,” he offered. “I could run out.”

Karen choked back a skeptical laugh. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Matt didn’t say anything, just listened as she got her coat and boots back on. The unpleasant sound of her wet socks squishing into the wet boots made his skin crawl.

“Um. Karen?”

She stopped, her hand raised to beat the snow from her hat. “Yeah?”

“Would you like to…borrow some socks?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” 


	6. The Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen makes hot cocoa and Matt is bad with emotions.

Of course she would never admit it, but Karen was relieved to escape Matt’s apartment, if only for a few minutes. Despite its enviably high ceilings and open floor plan (even with the reduced rent, she could never understand how he afforded it), there was something claustrophobic about the place, especially today. She felt trapped with Matt’s low mood, like it was filling the space and pressing her up against the wall. The oxygen in there was running low. 

The bodega was nearly empty, the windows all fogged up and the linoleum floor soaked with water. She grabbed a few essentials and ten minutes later she was back in front of Matt's door with a plastic bag cutting into each hand. 

“O- _kay_ , I got milk, eggs, bread, cereal, popcorn, and hot cocoa,” Karen said, shouldering her way in with a fake smile she hoped would sound in her voice.

Matt was actually out of bed, which was a bit of a surprise. He was sitting on the couch, his hair wet from a shower and glasses folded in one clenched hand. He didn’t turn towards her, but kept his face pointed towards the window, where falling snow blotted out the electric billboard. The light from the billboard was still fighting its way into the apartment, but came now in faint glimmers. 

“Hot cocoa?” he said mildly, as though this was a fascinating bit of trivia. 

“Yeah, and not the cheap, instant kind, either,” Karen said, unloading the groceries onto the counter. “Wait. Do you _like_ hot cocoa?”

“Um, yeah, I did. Do. It’s just. A little too sweet for me.”

It took Karen a second to translate this into “no, I do not like hot cocoa.” She turned around, only to find Matt facing her with his glasses back on. He gave her a small smile; she couldn’t tell if that indicated an improvement in his _mood_ , or in his coping mechanisms. 

“Well, _I’m_ having hot cocoa. What about tea?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. “I love tea.”

Matt’s kitchen was scary organized, so it only took Karen a few minutes to get a pot of milk on the stove and the water boiling. His tea collection was impressive, with “collection” being the operative word. 

“You’ve got a chocolate vanilla tea in here. That sounds terrible.”

“It’s actually very good.”

“Okay, so do you want that one?”

“…No.”

She put on a record, a symphony from a Russian composer whose name she couldn’t pronounce but that she vaguely recognized. Shook a bag of freshly popped popcorn into a big ceramic bowl, set down their two mugs on the coffee table, and plugged in her laptop. There was an unbelievably soft blanket folded on the arm of the couch, and she draped it over herself and Matt—taken altogether, it was the coziest Karen had felt in years.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

Matt smiled again, very politely, and said no. He was wearing a pair of knobbly wool socks to match the pair he’d loaned Karen, the tips of them poking out from beneath the blanket. Both hands were wrapped around the mug of tea, which she took as a good sign, though he’d only taken a few tentative sips. Maybe he was just having a rough morning. Karen propped her laptop on her knees and started working, the music from the record player fading out as she concentrated. Every few minutes she would peek over the screen to check in on Matt. He seemed fine, or at least better than he was when she arrived, but after a while she noticed that he had hardly moved since they sat down. His fingers tapped against the mug softly enough that they didn’t make a sound, but other than that he could have been a statue. Karen closed her laptop.

“Um. Matt. We can just sit and talk if you’d prefer.”

He shook his head mutely.

“We really don’t have anything pressing right now. This is mainly busy work.”

He took in a deep breath and held it for a little too long before saying, “it’s nothing, I just. Feel bad about it.”

Karen furrowed her brow. “Bad about what?”

“Not working. Uh, not…not doing my job.”

“Don't feel bad, seriously. Like I said, we don’t really have any immediate obligations.”

He let out an aggravated sigh. “That’s not exactly what I’m…talking about.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, leaning in.

Matt put his mug down and rubbed at his face. “Other obligations.”

It was a hard line to walk—was it better to take his frustratingly terse responses at face value and leave well enough alone, or to press harder? Karen reached back into her own memories, trying to recall what it felt like when her college friends tried to comfort her during a particularly low mood. _Horrible_ , her brain supplied. But that wasn’t going to cut it.

“Matt, I want to ask you a question, and if you don’t want to answer it that’s fine, it’s fine, just don’t say anything. But I’m asking because I want to know, okay?”

He nodded.

“Has this happened before?”

There was a long silence. Long enough that Karen suspected she wouldn’t get a response. But just as she opened her mouth to change the subject, Matt gave a crooked smile.

“Has this happened before. You mean, ‘have I completely lost the ability to function like a grown human being before’?”

“No,” she said, her voice hard, “that’s not what I mean.”

Matt looked up, surprised, and bit his lip. “I-I’m sorry. I’m just a little frustrated.” He ran his fingers through his still-damp hair. “Um, yes. It’s happened before.”

“During the Fisk case—”

He shook his head. “During the Fisk case we were all under enormous pressure. Ben and Mrs. Cardenas were killed, Foggy and I were fighting, you were…I don’t know. You weren’t happy either. That was different.”

“And now?” she asked.

“Now,” Matt started, but stopped abruptly and floundered. “Now…now…now, I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

He seemed dangerously close to tears, and Karen reached out a hand for his shoulder. When she touched him he froze for a split second, then collapsed in on himself, his head falling into his hands. 

“This is my fault. I-I should’ve seen this _coming_ ,” he choked. He still wasn't crying, though his voice was unbearably strained.

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s not, Matt. Please, don’t think that.” She moved closer and wrapped an arm around his trembling shoulders. 

“I thought I just needed some more sleep. I’ve been so _tired_ , Karen. I thought I just needed to sleep.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Karen rubbing his shoulder unconsciously and occasionally murmuring words of assurance. Finally, Matt swiped at his eyes and sat back up. He smiled shakily, clearly pretending he hadn't said any of what he'd just said.

“You didn’t finish your cocoa.”

Karen glanced at the now cold hot chocolate and rolled her eyes. “ _You_ didn’t finish your tea, smart guy.”

Matt’s smile dropped away, then came back. “Yeah, uh. It was good though.”

Oh boy. “Didn’t taste right, did it?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“How did you…?”

He looked genuinely surprised, and Karen realized that Matt probably never thought about “depression” as something other people got. Jesus Christ, he probably didn’t even think he _had_ it.

“After Fisk, everything tasted like sand,” she offered as a simpler explanation. “For a while. I only started enjoying my food again about a month ago.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, his expression almost painfully concerned. “You could’ve told me.”

“Oh, right," she said, annoyed. "Like how you told me.”

At least he had the decency to look abashed.

“Matt, you can talk to me about this.”

He nodded a few times, than switched to shaking his head again. “It’s just. It’s _embarrassing_. I’m working myself up over nothing. I’m…I’m sulking. And I’m not doing my job. I’m keeping you from _your_ job.”

“That’s not true.”

He laughed harshly. “It’s quantifiably true, Karen.”

“Does Foggy know?”

“Yeah,” Matt said, turning away. “When we were in college, he made me see a, a, you know. A person.”

“Therapist?”

“Counselor. I think. We met once. She was...nice.”

“And after that?”

“…I don’t want to worry him.”

Karen couldn’t handle much more of this. “So, what? Did you tell him you were ‘cured’? Did you tell him you kept seeing the counselor?”

Matt’s guilty expression was the only answer she needed.

“Oh, wow. Okay. So when you say ‘Foggy knows,’ what you really mean is, ‘I lied to Foggy and he doesn’t know at all,’ is that it?”

Matt’s face crumpled. Shit. Maybe that was a bit aggressive. 

“Okay, okay, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, Matt, wow. I'm sorry,” she said, backpedalling rapidly. 

“Please don’t tell him,” Matt pleaded. 

Karen sighed. “No, I won't. But _you_ should. You really, really should.” She didn’t point out that moments before he’d been denying that there was anything to ‘tell,’ though she badly wanted to.

“Can you just…text him again? Tell him we’re getting some work done. That everything’s fine.”

“Sure,” she said, pulling her phone out, “but if you still feel like this when he gets back from Vermont you’ll have to tell him. You’re pretty terrible at keeping secrets.”

Matt nodded, a small smile flashing across his face. “Thank you, Karen.”

Karen waited for Foggy to text her back with a stream of random emoticons before she stood up from the couch to stretch her legs.

“I’ve got Jim Dale on my iPod. Should I put it on?” she asked.

“I have no idea who that is, but feel free.”

“The Harry Potter books. He was the narrator”

“Hmm. I’ve never read those.”

“Oh my _God_.”

“Okay, Karen, calm down.”


	7. Reassurances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Karen wrap up their week in depression hell, and Karen remains shockingly cheerful. Matt and Foggy have a remarkably unhelpful phone conversation.

For the rest of the week, Karen did her work from Matt’s apartment. Each morning she came in with her laptop, two cups of coffee, and a paper bag full of pastries. Matt would force a smile and join her on the couch, sitting in silence while she typed and made phone calls. By Wednesday, he knew he had to do _something_ , so he brought out his own computer and managed to get through a tiny fraction of his rapidly mounting work— Karen kept saying that it was fine, that they weren’t far behind and that he should focus on himself. He didn’t want to tell her that the guilt was eating him alive, that there was nothing he’d rather do than go back to the office and do his damn job. He couldn’t tell her that, because he _couldn’t_ go to the office. So he tried to focus, focus on his work. Focus on the facts. He would walk Karen to the door in the evening, say goodbye, then curl up in bed and lie awake for hours, just trying to focus. Focus. If he was lucky he’d get a couple hours of sleep in. And in the morning they would start all over again.

On Friday, Karen’s computer gave a soft click as she closed it. Matt paused, his hands hovering over the braille display.

“Is something wrong, Karen?”

He heard an awful, snapping sound as she chewed on her dry lip. 

“Your hands are shaking,” she said.

Matt tightened them into fists and pressed them to his legs. “Yeah, uh, I’m. I’m a little tired.”

“Me too. C’mon.” Karen stood up suddenly, sending a small breeze towards Matt. “Some cold air should wake us up.”

“Oh. That doesn’t…or we could just sleep.”

“Murdock, if you were capable of sleeping you probably would’ve done it by now,” she said skeptically.

He smiled sheepishly and relented, letting Karen pull him from the couch and out the front door. The second he hit the street, he realized his mistake.

“It’s below zero, Karen,” he said, his teeth already chattering. 

“Let’s just go to that little lunch spot around the corner!” Karen walked briskly, Matt barely clinging to the crook of her arm as she practically dragged him down the block.

“I’m wearing sweatpants.”

“It’s the middle of winter, no one cares!”

“I didn’t wash my hair today.”

“You’re wearing a hat.”

“Or yesterday.”

“You look charming.”

“Or the day befo—”

“We’re here!”

He bumped into her as they both stopped in front of an establishment Foggy had once described as, “a halfway home for trust fund babies.” When Matt asked what they were halfway between, Foggy responded as though it were extremely obvious: “Halfway between their lives as parasites in New York City, and their lives as very untalented lumberjacks in the wilds of Canada.” Whatever that meant. Matt assumed it was an aesthetic thing. Foggy would often assure him that hating hipsters was very reasonable, if he could only see the way they dressed. Karen practically bounced through the door, her coat already draped over her arm.

“It’s basically deserted, Matt, c’mon. Please sit down?”

He pulled a chair out warily. “Well, it _is_ three in the afternoon. On a Thursday.”

He wished he could say that he enjoyed their brief experiment venturing into the outside world. He at least hoped he _appeared_ to enjoy it, for Karen’s sake. But the first thing Matt noticed was the smell. Or more accurately, the smell _s_. There was rat poison on the floor of the kitchen; the milk in the fridge was starting to expire; the waitress who served their food was trying to break into painting. That, or she was some kind of artist’s assistant: her hands reeked of turpentine. If he could focus, he could keep these little things from distracting him. And they _were_ little things. These sorts of tiny, day-to-day smells were normal, he was used to ignoring them. But for some reason, he’d been having a little trouble concentrating recently, and his senses hadn’t been behaving themselves. Oh. Karen was saying something. She was trying to carry on a conversation.

 _And I’m just sitting here,_ Matt thought, _ignoring her and picking my napkin to pieces._

He hadn’t yet taken a bite of his food, in part because he was having a bit of trouble figuring out what, exactly, it was supposed to be. He could smell tomato, ham, sharp cheddar cheese. There was definitely some sort of carbohydrate involved. A sandwich? The “image” in his head was vague, frustratingly so, but he couldn’t just ask Karen, “hey, what food did I order? I can’t remember.” Well, he _could_ , but he didn’t want her to worry unnecessarily. It had to be a sandwich. He reached down to pick it up and found his thumb plunged into something sticky and hot. 

“Macaroni,” he mumbled.

Karen scrambled to hand him her napkin. “Oh, geez. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s my fault,” he said, wiping his thumb off and smiling tightly. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

The rest of their lunch passed in awkward silence, and Matt felt flushed with relief when they made it back to his apartment. The relief was almost enough to overwhelm the shame he felt—was he so pathetic that he couldn’t handle lunch in a nearly empty café? He didn’t _want_ to be reclusive, but it was just. So much. Easier. He listened for the rush of fabric against fabric as Karen pulled her scarf off, and wandered back to his bedroom. 

“Sooo,” Karen said, “do you want to start looking over the paperwork for the Diggs’ case?”

“We’re meeting with him on Monday?”

“Yeah.”

Matt sighed. “I’ll look it over myself. Why don’t you just go home?”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

Over the course of the week, Matt had perfected the art of cutting Karen off before she could ask him questions about his mental state. Her pulse would always pick up when she was contemplating broaching the subject, and Matt would quickly cut her off in increasingly creative ways. At the moment, this didn’t seem like a possibility. Still, he wasn’t quite the shaking, pitiful mess he’d been on Monday. Maybe he could convince Karen to finally ( _finally_ ) leave him alone.

“I’m just going to look over the case file, go to bed early, and spend the weekend catching up on all the work I’ve fallen behind on,” he said.

“I could still help you with that, you know,” she said with a note of forced enthusiasm.

Matt smiled. “That’s really not necessary. And besides, we can’t pay you for the overtime.”

Karen laughed dryly. “No kidding. I still don’t understand how you afford this apartment.”

“I moonlight as a bank robber.”

“Hilarious.”

“Go home, Karen. Spend the weekend with your friends.”

“You _are_ my friend, Matt.”

“Other friends. Fun ones.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

He stopped, and felt his smile grow brittle. “Yeah. Um, I was going to make some plans.”

“Because if you’re spending the weekend alone _again_ , I swear to God, I’m calling Foggy.”

“No, I’m meeting a couple friends from college,” Matt lied. “For lunch.”

There was a long moment of silence, and he knew Karen was trying to read his expression. He trained it into what he hoped passed for a look of innocence. 

“Okay, okay. Don’t make your puppy face at me. I’ll go.”

“My what?”

“Just…just promise me one thing? Could you text me? And call Foggy. Before Monday.”

“Sure thing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Matt. And please, _call me_ if you want to. I honestly do not have anything going on in my life, you can bother me whenever you’d like.”

“Of course I’ll call.” 

 

* * *

 

“Are you on the roof?” Foggy asked with a hint of frustration.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Because I can barely hear you. It sounds like you’re calling from inside a jet turbine.”

“What’s the point of roof access if I don’t take advantage of it?”

Foggy sighed. “In February? Seriously, Matt, _why_ are you up there?”

It was freezing. And yes, the wind was unusually strong that Saturday. And yes, Matt’s pants were currently soaking through with slush. He sat with his back against the low wall, one hand pressing the cellphone to his cheek and the other digging into the thin layer of ice and snow that coated the roof. He hadn’t bothered to put on his shoes.

“I can’t tell how much snow cover there is from inside. I thought I’d get a better sense of it up here.”

“And? How is it?”

“Still too much. ”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re sticking to your side of the promise. I’ll check the snow cover for you when I get back. No Daredeviling until then, okay?”

“Please stop calling it that.”

“I refuse to use the word ‘vigilante,’ it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Plus there’s no verb form for it. Vigilante-ing? Vigiling? ”

Matt chuckled. “We’ll think of an alternative.”

“So everything’s good there?”

“Yeah, everything’s great.”

“Great. And you’re good?”

“Yes, Foggy. I’m good. What about you? How’s Vermont?”

“Oh, you know. Bonnie and our cousin Colin dipped their fingers in a bowl of frozen blueberries and tricked Mom into thinking they had frostbite. I thought she was going to faint, she was going on about ‘chopping the fingers off before it spread!’ Nearly broke her computer trying to open WebMD.”

“Oh, wow.”

“So Bonnie had her phone taken away for the rest of the weekend. Colin didn’t get punished, the little dick. My aunt and uncle are such pushovers.”

Matt let Foggy go on about his week for a while longer, leaning his head back and enjoying the sound of his best friend’s voice. Of course, ever since Foggy’s mom had heard that he was an orphan, he’d been invited to every single Nelson family gathering. But he hadn’t gone to the last few. He didn’t want Mrs. Nelson to see him. He didn’t know why, but ever since the Fisk case he didn’t really want anyone to see him. Foggy and Karen were the exceptions.

“So what’s up, Matt? What’d you do this week?”

“You know. Work.”

“And how are you?”

Wasn’t that the second time Foggy had asked how he was?

“Like I said, I’m doing well. It’s all been very boring around here, you haven’t missed a thing,” Matt said.

“Okay, well, I’m coming back Sunday afternoon. Wanna grab dinner?”

“I can’t, I’ve already made some plans. But I’ll see you on Monday.”

“…Okay. Cool. Alright, well, you know. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Yep.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Matt lowered the phone slowly, his hand shaking. He hadn’t noticed before, but as he’d been speaking his grip had been gradually tightening. When he touched his palm he felt the clear indentations where the phone had cut into it. 

 _I still have to text Karen. She’ll probably call me back, too,_ Matt thought. He didn’t want to speak to Karen. Didn’t want to speak with Foggy. 

He reached his arm over the edge of the roof and without a second thought, dropped his cellphone off the side. After a brief pause, he heard the simple, sharp sound of a small machine shattering into a hundred pieces. It had missed the snow, thankfully. That wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying. Matt smiled to himself.

The next moment, the smile washed off of his face. _Oh my God. What the hell did I just do?_

He dashed down the stairs, taking them three at a time, and out the front door, still barefoot. The phone was there, smashed on the sidewalk. 

_Why did I do that? Why did I do that? Why did I do that?_

Matt scooped up what pieces he could find, and went back inside. He dumped the now useless phone in the trash, walked past the kitchen, past the living room, and crawled into bed. He didn’t change into dry clothing, didn’t scrape the dirt off of his bare feet. He wrapped his comforter around himself and closed his eyes.


	8. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy's back. Matt and Karen aren't quite prepared for the new work week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I'm back at school, and I have a lot less time. And in all honesty, I'm having trouble deciding where this will go.

Foggy was eavesdropping. Not intentionally, never intentionally. He’d learned his lesson in the fifth grade when he’d tried pressing a glass against a door like they do in the movies, and overheard his oldest cousin confess her love to their _second_ oldest cousin. That extremely awkward experience had pretty much put him off the whole thing. Maybe eavesdropping wasn’t the right word to describe what he was doing at that exact second; the walls of their very, very cheap office were so thin that every word uttered in the stairwell may as well have issued from an intercom. So there Foggy was, frozen by Karen’s desk while one hand nervously strangled a small stuffed moose. It wasn't eavesdropping. Their echoing voices were pinning him to the spot. From what he could tell, Karen had cornered Matt on the landing just below their floor. 

“You didn’t text, you didn’t pick up _any_ of my calls,” she hissed.

“I lost my phone,” Matt said dejectedly.

There was a long, cold silence.

“You _lost_ your phone.”

“…Yes.”

“Where? When?”

“When I was—”

“Because I swear to _God_ , Matt, if you lie to me—”

“Fine! Fine!” he snapped, “I broke it.”

“You…what?”

"It broke. I broke it."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

“Can we just…can we talk about this later? Can we get to work?”

Karen sighed. “Okay. But I’m going to hold you to it.”

As the sounds of their footsteps grew louder, Foggy scrambled to look busy. So maybe he’d been eavesdropping a _little_. What the hell was going on? Talk about lying and cellphones forcibly reminded him of the horrible night he'd found Matt in his apartment. But it couldn't be that. Could they have started dating in the single week he’d been gone? It didn’t seem likely. Karen stepped in first, looking uncharacteristically morose.

“Good morning, starshine!” Foggy said with forced cheer. 

She jumped a little, but quickly recovered with a smile. “Oh, wow! Foggy. I, uh, didn’t realize you were already here.”

“Course I am. You know I pride myself on my punctuality.”

Karen raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Right. And what’s that?” she asked, pointing to his hand.

“Oh, _that_. This.” Foggy looked down at the moose. “I managed to find something other than maple syrup to bring back from Vermont.”

“I didn’t think it was possible.”

“And here’s a bottle of maple syrup for Matt!” he said, pulling it out of his satchel.

Karen crossed her arms. “It came with the moose, didn’t it?”

“It did indeed come with the moose.”

She took the moose from him and positioned it by her outbox. “Well, I love it.”

“Uh, where _is_ Matt, anyway?” he asked, glancing back at the door. “I thought he was right behind you.”

She looked up very suddenly. “Why did you think that?”

Foggy opened and closed his mouth. “Oh, um, no idea. I just. Uh, I heard. Never mind.”

“Oh my God,” Karen said, her voice muffled by the hands she’d pressed to her face. “You heard us.”

“No, no, not really. I didn’t really hear anything, Karen, seriously.”

“This is so _stupid_.” She pulled her hands back down and bit her lip, looking around the room aimlessly. “Where _did_ he go?”

As though in response, Matt walked in, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, I just. Stopped to tie my shoe.”

Honestly, how could someone who led a secret life as a masked vigilante (and a lawyer to boot) be so bad at lying? For a brief moment, Karen and Foggy were united in incredulous disbelief. Then Karen turned to her computer without a word and started typing, her lips pressed thin. Foggy handed Matt the maple syrup.

“It’s maple syrup, just FYI. I know you don’t like sweet stuff, but they didn’t have much else and—“

Matt took it and turned the bottle over in his hands a few times. “No, I like it. I like the smell.”

“Well, _that’s_ weird. You’re a weirdo. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah, _you_ have. Multiple times.”

“And I was right. God, I’m smart,” Foggy said, clapping him on the back.

Matt flinched.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, dude. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Matt said, shrugging him off. “We, uh, we have the Diggs meeting today?”

“…Three o’clock. Yeah.” Foggy scrutinized Matt a bit more. “You okay, buddy? You look kind of under the weather. Or something.”

Or something. Matt seemed paler somehow, more drawn. Foggy was 99% sure the sunglasses were hiding the bags under his eyes. He knew that Matt often didn’t get enough sleep, especially nowadays, but he wouldn’t have been Daredeviling this week. Not with the snow. Not if he’d kept his promise. And while he didn’t seem _scared_  exactly, there was a nervous energy in his posture, in his hands (which were still turning the maple syrup bottle over), in his tight expression. He looked like he did during finals week back at Columbia. Maybe it was stress.  _And I just took a week long vacation_ , he thought to himself.  _Nice going, asshole._

“I caught a cold this weekend when I went up to the roof. You were right, it was…a stupid idea.”

“I don’t think I said that.”

“Anyway.” Matt smiled tightly. “Diggs. Three o’clock. That gives us, what, seven hours?”

“A little less. Listen, did you eat breakfast? We should get breakfast.”

“I had a muffin.”

Foggy scoffed. “No, you didn’t. C'mon, let’s go.”

Matt shook his head slowly. “I can’t. I have a lot to catch up on before the meeting.”

“We’ll be fast.”

Bizarrely, Matt turned very slightly towards Karen. She looked up and rolled her eyes, then took a deep breath.

“You should go get breakfast, Matt. We’ve got a good grip on the case work.”

“But I—”

“Go.”

Matt huffed and sighed and reluctantly unfolded his cane. “You’re not coming?”

But Karen had already turned back to her computer. “ _Go_.”

 


End file.
